


a mood

by gumpekulla



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumpekulla/pseuds/gumpekulla
Summary: He finishes up quickly, puts several containers in the freezer but saving one in the fridge for work tomorrow. Connor's already cleaned away all the dishes from earlier, and now it's fair game to indulge.





	a mood

**Author's Note:**

> Filth, utter filth. My first D:BH fic because I watched ONE DAMN PLAYTHROUGH and I shipped Hank and Connor directly coz damn.

xXx

 

Hank is in a mood.

Not a bad one; he’s not angry, or bitter, or despondent. He recognizes his headspace for what it is; assertive, and dominant. It used to be common, way back,  _ before. _ Then it got drowned in grief and self-destruction. A lot has happened since then, however.

He's better, now. Thirty-three days sober and counting. He got his beard trimmed, his house cleaned up. He goes for a run in the mornings and actually buys groceries, because he used to  _ love  _ to cook and that passion is slowly, slowly returning. A lot of it is down to his therapist, but most of the work has been himself realizing he doesn't want to die anymore, and that he doesn't want to keep living the life he had been for so long. And  _ that  _ is something he can only think to thank Connor for.

The Android sent by Cyberlife changed a  _ lot  _ of things. With him, Hank discovered a slowly growing appreciation for being  _ alive.  _ Connor's slow, clueless descent into Deviancy had overturned many of Hank's previous preconceptions. Post the Android revolution over a year ago, or whatever the fuck you’d call it, it had only further driven home the things Hank had found himself forgetting; the  _ joys  _ of experiencing some things and  _ enjoying  _ them. Hugging Connor, and feeling him return it with gusto, and hearing him whisper his thanks, had jolted something to life somewhere deep inside of Hank.

It's taken a long time, but he's finally starting to enjoy being alive again. And Connor's right there with him.

At this moment, that's actually literal.

Hank's standing in the kitchen, filling up Tupperware containers with portions of beef stew and potatoes. On Connor's suggestion, he's started cooking large every Sunday to make lunch boxes for the rest of the work week. It's nauseously domestic, but his therapist had approved of the idea and fuck it, he’ll catch shit for it from some of the guys at the station, but it's a small price to pay for the more frequent moments of  _ contentment _ he gets out of it.

Connor, meanwhile, is leaning casually against a kitchen counter in one of Hank's sweatshirts and his own cotton shorts, smiling softly. He's watching Hank work, and that's fine, but he's looking way too good doing it. Hank's shirt is too big on him, and it makes him look smaller than he is. Vulnerable. The grey cotton shorts, soft and  _ short _ as they are, aren't helping matters. Connor's legs are pale and smooth, freckled but hairless, and as perfect as the rest of him. The fond look on his face further lends to the intimacy of the scene.

And Hank finds himself  _ in a mood. _

He finishes up quickly, puts several containers in the freezer but saving one in the fridge for work tomorrow. Connor's already cleaned away all the dishes from earlier, and now it's fair game to indulge.

Hank steps over to where Connor stands, eyes focused on the way Connor fidgets slightly as he takes note of the change in mood. This  _ thing  _ between them is neither entirely new, nor exactly old. It's gotten better, the more stable Hank gets and the more sure Connor becomes with himself, and they’ve started exploring their dynamic quite enthusiastically lately. Who knew Connor could be such a  _ filthy  _ little thing?

“C’mere,” Hank says as he reaches out to grasp Connor's wrists, dragging him in until they’re standing flush against each other. Warm, brown eyes blink up at him, soft lips still smiling, and it's easy to lean in for a kiss. Connor hums appreciately into it, opening his mouth eagerly for Hank to lick inside. His mouth is warm, spit thicker than human saliva and almost tasteless. His tongue is stronger than a human's, more flexible, but has a surprising give to it that makes it soft and pliable. Hank groans as the thought just conjures up everything he’s had that tongue do, intimately, and he sneaks his hands around to cup Connor's perfectly curved bottom. It makes Connor arch up into him, fisting his hands into Hank's hair and messing up the already sloppy bun at the nape of his neck.  _ Fuck,  _ what this damn 'droid does to him.

Hank's cock is already chubbing up, tenting his boxers. It's Sunday, and his preferred outfit at home is still boxers and a t-shirt. The only difference is that they're both clean and none of them has any holes in them. Connor had, at one point, joined him in throwing away a large part of his wardrobe that had made him feel like the alcoholic slob that he was trying not to be. His therapist had suggested getting into healthier routines, but also to practise some self-care. It works, for the most part. He feels clean, and comfortable, most of the time. Especially like this; with Connor pressed up against him, hands playing with his grey (but clean) hair before roaming down his back and around his (still fat, but Connor seems to enjoy it, the weird little freak) stomach.

“Hank,” Connor groans as their kiss is broken in favor of letting the human one of them breathe. He's got his hands slipping underneath Hank's shirt, gently scratching through the hair on his stomach and up to his chest, bunching the loose material up with not a single care. He finds Hank's nipples and gently brushes his thumbs over them, as he gropes what Hank hesitates to call  _ pecs  _ anymore.

“What do you want, boy?” Hank wonders, pressing into Connor's caresses even as he starts to rock Connor's groin against his own by the hold he has on his ass. He kisses along Connor's neck, beneath his ear, and nibbles gently at the synthetic skin that feels so smooth and supple to his touch.

“I want to please you daddy,” he whispers, face hot with embarrassment, because Connor blushes, now. He’s programmed his skin to change color in reaction to certain stimulations or emotional reactions. He can simulate what color he flushes bright with, and switches between the blue of his thirium blood and the red of a human, depending on his mood. Today, he's blue, and it's ridiculously endearing and thrillingly arousing. Hank prefers it, it feels more like  _ Connor, _ but in the end it doesn't matter; making Connor blush, period, is a victory all on its own.

“Good. I'm going to catch the last of the basketball match before it's over,” Hank murmurs as he kisses softly up Connor's neck, along his jaw, to end with a cheeky peck on the nose that never fails to make Connor go hilariously cross-eyed (it used to be unnerving, Connor's need to observe everything, but with time and a better self-confidence, it has become endearing).

“I do not believe that would be the best use of our time,” Connor protests, narrowing his eyes and slipping his hands around to cling to Hank's back, keeping him close. Hank grins, can't help but resist to roll his hips against Connor once more, both their erections grinding together and creating a teasing kind of friction.

“Oh I won't leave you hanging, you’ll have  _ plenty  _ to occupy yourself with,” Hank promises with a smirk, kissing Connor's pretty mouth once more before he pulls free and steps back.

“Are you teasing me, daddy?” Connor asks then, voice pitched slightly higher than usual, looking up at him through his dark, lovely lashes like the saucy little shit he is. It's a struggle not to simply lift him up on the kitchen counter, ripping shorts and underwear off, and simply fuck into him until that smartass mouth is hanging open and making obscene, helpless noises. But Hank manages.

“Just for that, I fucking well  _ will,  _ boy,” Hank snorts as he grabs Connor's wrist and pulls him into the living room. There's just no curbing that attitude, and truth be told, Hank wouldn't want to. Connor is feisty, and mouthy, and goddamn infuriating. Hank loves him to the core.

Gracelessly, Hank sits down on the couch and very deliberately, pulls Connor down to kneel between Hank's spread legs. Connor goes without protest, because he reads Hank and his  _ moods  _ well enough by now, and Hank can tell by the way his shorts bulge and his lips part, that Connor is well aboard this turn of events.

“Take my cock out, and put it in your mouth. All the way down, baby boy, I want to fill your throat,” Hank orders lazily, reaching for the remote and turning the TV on. Connor is backlit by the bright light of the screen, the only source of light beside a lonely lamp in a corner, and the residual glow from the kitchen. Tapping two fingers against Connor's lips, Hank continues. “Keep my cock warm and don't move. I want to be nice, hard and wet by the time I'm done watching. You keep your hands on your knees unless I tell you otherwise, understood?”

Connor swallows the excess saliva produced in reaction to Hank's words, and nods eagerly. Shit, it's good that he's missed most of the match and won’t have to sit through a full game, because Hank doesn't think he would've been able to hold out.

“Use your words, baby,” Hank urges him, running a hand through Connor's hair and tugging lightly at it.

Connor shivers, but he complies. “Yes daddy, I understand.”

“Safeword? And how do you tap out?” Hank insists, even though Connor has stated again and again that he is incapable of forgetting it.

“Yellow to pause and assess, red to stop. Tap your thigh once for yellow, twice for red,” Connor dutifully recites, even going so far as to look endeared, which for some reason causes Hank to flush red.

“Good boy,” Hank praises, running the hand in Connor's hair down to cup the nape of his neck. With an assertive tug, he pulls Connor's face down closer to his groin. “Now, get on with it.”

“Yes daddy,” Connor moans, reaching out with both hands to pull at Hank's boxers and smiling when Hank lifts up hip hips to help him discard of them. Efficient as always, Connor doesn't waste any time following orders, a stark contrast to how their relationship at work can be. But like this, it's play, and about satisfying their mutual desires.

Hank lets out a loud, appreciative groan as Connor bends all the way down and swallows his mostly erect cock in one goddamn go. It's as mind-numbingly amazing as always; his mouth a slick heat that takes him down into a tight, unforgiving throat. The texture is more like silicone, but possessed with much more controlled components; there is no airway, no gag reflex, but the single tube meant to ingest and process foreign matter after passing past Connor's freaky CSI tongue, is fully controlled by Connor himself. He can squeeze, and release, at will without any harm done and isn't that a fucking delightful but entirely unintended benefit of Connor's design? His thick saliva work as excellent lube, as well, and Hank has made good use of it ever since he discovered Connor's compulsion to put things into his mouth went  _ way  _ beyond anything remotely professional. The oral fixation on his boy is delightfully filthy.

“There you go, baby,” Hank sighs as he forces himself to relax back into the couch, putting on the TV and scrolling through the channels. None of the teams playing tonight are teams he has any interests in, which is why he hasn't watched the game from the beginning in the first place. He's merely using it as an excuse to play for the evening. It's been a while since he had Connor's mouth this way, and tonight he craves the feeling of utter dominance over his sweet, pliant boy.

Connor hums contentedly around his dick, causing a pleasant vibration to run along Hank's shaft. Too much of that, and Hank will go from restrained passive to fucking that damn throat until he blows. He tugs at Connor's hair sharply in warning, making him go unnaturally still.

“There you go,” Hank murmurs, petting the head in his lap and forcing himself to not look down. He keeps his eyes glued to the TV, giving the illusion of ignoring the 'droid warming his cock. In reality, his vision is blurry with frustrated pleasure, dick throbbing, with a burning knot of arousal low in his gut. He keeps one hand resting on Connor's head, making sure he's kept in place even though it's unnecessary. The other he keeps clenched in the couch cushion, fighting the urge to jerk his hips up and grind onto Connor's face.

It feels like an eternity, but the game finally ends. Hank regrets not getting a soda before he engaged them in this scene, because he would have welcomed the slight distraction of sipping it during the wait. Now, though, he congratulates himself on making it, and finally looks down to take in the sight of Connor between his legs.

Connor's cheeks are flushed blue, his nose is buried in Hank's pubic hairs, and his LED is a swirling yellow. Pretty, glassy brown eyes are unblinking and fixated on Hank's face, taking everything in. As soon as Hank makes eye-contact, giving up the illusion of dismissiveness, Connor whines pitifully and swallows around the cock buried in his throat. Hank groans, taking a hold of him by fisting both hands in his hair, and drags him up until onto the head of his dick is left in Connor's mouth.

“Suck it, boy,” Hank growls, aroused beyond reason, and Connor is quick to reply. “Good, fuck, you're so good baby.”

Connor's tongue plays with Hank's slit, his lips a tight seal around the tip, and the suction is maddening. He could go on forever, but Hank is already flirting with his limit. With a forceful shove, Hank dislodges the 'droid before he gives in to the urge to fuck his mouth. He’d come too quickly then, and he wants to take Connor's ass before then. It's still a novel upgrade, Connor’s functional genitals and asshole. Well, it's more of a fuckhole because it's only function is to take a dick, and it's designed accordingly. Self-lubricating and all, it's a fucking gift. Apparently it's equipped with extra sensors too, because Connor goes fucking  _ wild  _ speared on Hank's cock.

“Get naked and climb into my lap, baby boy,” Hank orders impatiently. It takes no time at all, and he can't help but pull Connor into a deep, sloppy kiss the moment his warm, familiar weight is on him.

“Daddy, daddy please,” Connor moans once Hank's kisses leave his mouth and trails down his neck to his collarbone. “I’ve been good, please, please fuck me daddy.”

Hank can't deny him that, not when he's so pretty and so good, so fucking tempting, and he really doesn't want to. Having forced himself to keep still for so long, he can't wait to fuck into Connor  _ hard. _

“You are good, Connor, so good,” he groans, grabbing him by the hips and putting him in place before he reached for his dick and guiding it to Connor's hole. “Now sit down on daddy’s dick, baby, c’mon.”

Connor shudders, sinking down in one swell swoop and crying out at the sudden sensation of being stretched. Hank's cock is fat and a fucking challenge for a normal human, but Connor takes it all. He's snug around Hank, warm and wet with lube, and he immediately starts to ride Hank's dick like he can't wait for one more second.

“You feel so good daddy,” Connor moans, hair a mess, bouncing in Hank's lap and bracing himself on Hank's shoulders. “Can I come daddy? Please? May I come on your cock?”

Hank swears violently, his hands on Connor's hips clenching, and fucks up into Connor with more force. Every thrust up collided with Connor's trusts down, jolting him and fucking all kind of whiny little noises out of him. It's a fucking sight, and Hank won't be able to hold out.

“Yeah baby,” Hank pants, sweaty and ready to blow, desperately wanting to see Connor come without a hand to his bouncing dick. Just worked up from warming Hank's cock, and getting fucked hard.

It doesn't take long. Connor freezes up, LED flashing red as his dick squirts out a sticky, white substance. His pretty mouth hangs open, momentarily some form of short-circuited, and Hank simply can't take it anymore. Slamming Connor down, he keeps him in place as his dick shoots deep inside, painting his insides with hot spunk. He’ll finger that outta him later, feed his greedy little mouth.  _ Fuck. _

“Thank you daddy,” Connor whispers in his ear, arms around Hank's neck as he melts into him. Hank returns the embrace, hugging him around his slim waist, and groans.

“Fuck, Connor. You're a goddamn menace,” he grumbles, too fond and entirely head over heels. Connor laughs, LED blue, before leaning back to kiss him gently on the mouth.

“Just how you like it,” he grins, and Hank can't deny it. Instead, he kisses him silent, because enough is fucking enough. Sassy fucking Android.

  
  
  
xXx

**Author's Note:**

> *collapses* I have no shame left.
> 
> Also, Clancy Brown with a groomed beard and that shoulder-length hair is a wet dream *swoons* He'd rock the man-bun too.
> 
> I just needed Hank to get better okay he deserves a more healthy mental mindset and lifestyle. Kthxbye.


End file.
